


In Which You Meet Dallon Weekes And Spill Your Coffee On Your Brand-New Panic! Shirt

by freeshipping



Series: Dallon Weekes and You [1]
Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, I didn't specify gender, Other, POV Second Person, Romance, can be read with orginal male or female character, just for fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 20:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1701332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freeshipping/pseuds/freeshipping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You meet Dallon Weekes and spill coffee on your brand-new Panic! shirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which You Meet Dallon Weekes And Spill Your Coffee On Your Brand-New Panic! Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this lovely person](https://twitter.com/PatrcikStump), who requested it. My first foray into writing for bandom and more of a warm-up exercise than anything. I haven't written anything in awhile, so excuse the shittiness. Also second-person ??

You see a button-up shirt stretched over a toned chest, and the next thing you know is that you’re covered in hot coffee.

“Fuck, fuck, shit, sorry. Shit. Are you okay?”

“Damn.” You looked down at your white Panic! shirt, now with a growing brown stain across the front of it. You can’t bring yourself to feel much more than disappointed. It’s hard to feel angry when you’re this tired.

“I’m really, really sorry. Do you want me to buy you another one? Hey, can you grab her another coffee! On me, thank you. Really, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I mean, the shirt was new… but that’s okay. I guess it adds character.”

The man gives a nervous laugh, and you finally look up.

You almost drop your bag.

“God damn. I mean… you’re, um.” You’re speechless.

The man runs his long fingers through a messy mop of brown hair. “Yeah. Dallon Weekes. I’m guessing you know who I am from your… um…” He gestures awkwardly at your shirt.

“Replacement coffee!” the barista calls.

Dallon jumps. “I got it.” He leaves your side briefly, giving you a few seconds to get yourself under control. You’ve always been pretty socially relaxed, but it’s hard for you to suppress your inner fangirl when you’re talking to Dallon Fucking Weekes. By the time he returns, you have a good idea of what to say.

“Thank you,” you say, giving him your most charming smile, “I appreciate it. Great show last night, by the way.”

“Oh! You were there?”

You nod, taking a cool sip of your coffee before speaking. “Yeah, of course, I wasn’t about to miss my favorite band while they were in town. You. Were in town. Are.” You wince internally.

Dallon bites his lip, glancing back down at your shirt. “Hey, why don’t I get you a replacement? Are you busy right now? I think I have a few extras back at the hotel.”

You grin, craning your head to meet his eyes. Shit, he’s tall. “That would be amazing, thank you.” _Thank you for existing._

You don’t have much experience with flirting, but by the time your cab reaches the hotel, you’re 99.99% sure that Dallon Weekes is flirting with you.

Exhibit A: He sits in the middle of the back seat, right next to you, rather than sitting in the front or on the opposite side of the cab.

Exhibit B: He grabs your knee to brace himself when the cab makes a sharp turn.

Exhibit C: He tells you he likes your hair and then he _runs his fucking fingers through it like who even does that._

Exhibit D: He grabs your hand when you get out of the cab, telling you that “he doesn’t want any of the crazy fangirls to see him alone and try to hit on him.”

You laugh quietly at that. “I’m not one of the crazy fangirls?”

He bites his lips, looking at you thoughtfully. “No. You’re one of the cool fangirls that I kind of want to be friends with.” Fuck.

You notice he doesn’t let go of your hand once you’re inside the hotel, or even once you get into the elevator. In fact, he doesn’t let go of your hand until you reach the door to his hotel room and he has to fumble through his pockets for the key.

It only takes him a couple minutes to find a shirt in your size. And then he pulls out three more and hands them to you. “Here.”

“What?”

He grins. “Take them. Just don’t tell Brendon.”

You laugh. “Thank you, really.” You look down awkwardly at the shirts. You feel like you should leave now, but….

“Hey, do you want to stick around? We could, uh, watch a movie?”

You stare at him. “Um, I’d love to, but… don’t you have like a lot of friends and fans and other people…. I mean, people you’d rather spend time with than, you know…”

He gives you a weak smile. “A fan?”

You nod.

He slowly walks toward you. “But. I like you. You’re cool and funny and I like your hair. Plus you like my music. And you didn’t freak out when you saw me, which I appreciate.” He’s standing less than a foot away from you, and you suddenly have to concentrate on breathing. “And I don’t want to jump to conclusion, but your pupils are awfully dilated right now.”

He reaches out a hand and buries it in your hair, wrapping his other arm around your waist and pulling you in for a soft kiss. His lips are full and warm and you practically melt, leaning into him. _Fuck._

“That’s okay, right?” He mutters against your mouth.

“I don’t know, you’d better do it again so I can make sure.” You feel him laughing as he kisses you again, this time a little more passionately. You drop the shirts on the floor and wrap your arms around his neck. Your entire body is pressed against his and you can feel his heart pounding and you wonder why he seems so nervous.

He pulls away from your mouth to kiss your cheek. “Can I let you in on a little secret?” he whispers. You nod. “I haven’t ever made a move on a fan before. I haven’t even dated anyone in almost eight months.”

You swallow, hard. “Why not?”

A moment of silence. Then, “There was no one I was interested in.”

Your phone buzzes with a text just then, and you feel an overwhelming urge to punch something. It’s from your roommate. “Hey i’m stranded at a party, can u pls come get me? it’s an emergency”

You sigh and lean your forehead against Dallon’s shoulder. “I have to go.”

He’s silent for a moment. “Okay, hold on moment. Don’t move. Close your eyes.” You do as he says, and then you feel something cold moving against the underside of your arm. You stand still, your eyes closed, for about three minutes. When you start to get restless, Dallon finally tells you to open your eyes.

You look down at your arm to see a gorgeous pattern of vines and flowers stretching up from your wrist and tangling up to your shoulder, outlined in black pen. You gape down at the drawing. “Did you just…?”

“I like to draw.” He grins at you, and you can’t help but grin stupidly back.

 

It’s only later, when you’re at home with your (slightly drunk) roommate, that she points at your arm with an open mouth. “Hey, whose number is that?”

“What?” You stare down at your arm confused, and that’s when you see a carefully outlined series of nine digits climbing up one of the vines on your wrist. “Oh,” you mutter, “It’s no one. Just this musician I met.”

“Is he hot?”

You bite back a laugh. “Yes,” you say, eyeing your roommate’s Panic! poster from across the room, “You might think so.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this was a first for me, so let me know what you think! thanks for reading :D


End file.
